Endgame
by Tex-chan
Summary: When everything hits the fan and life comes at you too quickly, it’s the little things that count, and small memories are all you have to hang on to. Yohji realizes this when it seems he will lose what is most important to him.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary:**__ When everything hits the fan and life comes at you too quickly, it's the little things that count, and small memories are all you have to hang on to. Yohji realizes this and has to come to terms with the questions of how and if he wants to go on, once he has lost what is important to him._

_**Warnings:**__ Some bad language. Violence. Heavy angst and drama._

_**Legal Stuff:**__ As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**Endgame: Part 1**

"Just keep going. Keep moving. One foot in front of the other," Yohji panted, shifting around so that Aya's weight rested against him a bit more.

Aya didn't say anything, and it occurred to Yohji that he hadn't said anything for some time now. Yohji hadn't noticed; he had been too busy trying to elude the guards that had ambushed them. Now, though, he felt a pang of fear stab through his heart and into his gut. Aya had been in the lead when they had entered that room in search of their target, which meant he had walked head-first into the ambush. Which meant his body had shielded Yohji from the attack. Yohji figured he should have felt lucky. After all, he had escaped without a scratch. But how could he, when his good fortune came at such a high price?

How high … he didn't know yet. He hadn't had time to stop and take stock of Aya's injuries. He cringed inside, remembering how Aya had stumbled backward, out of the room and right into his arms. He had looked so surprised; Yohji couldn't ever remember Aya looking that way. Not the kind of expression Aya normally wore -- there for an instant and, then, shoved back down in favor of the emotionless mask he showed the rest of the world. No, this had been pure and genuine shock, the emotion and pain written there in Aya's wide-eyed expression, easy for Yohji to read, even at a glance. There had been so much blood. Too much, although Yohji forced that thought from his mind. In a little while, when they were safe, he could let himself think about it. Then, he could fall apart. Not now. Now, he needed to find somewhere for them to hide until the guards either passed them by or gave up on looking, or until Omi and Ken could get to them.

"Hey, you're still with me, right?" Yohji asked.

He glanced down and a little to the left, trying to catch his partner's eyes, trying to assure himself that Aya was all right. It didn't do any good. Aya leaned into Yohji's body, like a dead weight, and he moved with his head bowed. All Yohji could see was the top of Aya's head -- a small sea of red hair obscuring his vision. Red like the blood leaking from his body, dripping to the floor as they moved, and clinging to Yohji's clothes, hands, and hair.

He waited, hoping against hope that Aya would say something, staring at the top of Aya's head as he willed his partner to say the words he wanted to hear. They continued moving forward -- at a slow pace now, more stumbling along the hallway than actually walking. But, to Yohji, it felt as if everything stopped. As if the Earth itself stopped rotating as he stared at Aya and held his breath, waiting for some signal that the term "dead weight", which kept flitting through his brain, was a description and not the literal truth.

"Right?" Yohji prompted, after what seemed like an eternity's wait -- a lifetime and more, strung together on those precious seconds during which he fought down the fear clenching at his heart and tried to force himself to believe Aya was all right. That everything would be all right.

Finally, Aya nodded. Slowly, as if it took all the energy he could muster just to make the small motion. It wasn't the reaction or answer Yohji had hoped for. He had wanted verbal confirmation; he had wanted Aya to tell him to shut the fuck up and stop worrying like a mother hen. Hell, he didn't know what he had wanted, but he knew it was more than what he got. Still, one small head shake was better than nothing.

Yohji forced his thoughts away from Aya, turning his attention toward their surroundings. He had memorized the building's layout, and he had excellent recall and an almost photographic mental image of the blueprints, almost like having a map right inside his head. Even so, he wasn't sure where they were. He had been moving on blind instinct up to this point -- zigging and zagging, taking corridors and sharp turns without paying much attention, his only goal to put distance between them and their pursuers. Now, though, Yohji felt comfortable that he had accomplished that goal, at least for the moment.

This office building was a maze -- a labyrinth of corridors, all feeding off of each other, each one tumbling into another, then twisting and turning into yet another hallway. Yohji remembered how he had looked at the blueprints and joked about the architect being on crack at the time he had designed this place. It had seemed funny at the time, but now, the humor in it rang more than a little hollow. The crazy layout was a double-edged sword. Yohji felt like he could use it to his advantage to lose their pursers. But, it would make it hard for him to find his way back out, and, maybe, even harder for Omi and Ken to locate them.

In spite of its posh wall coverings and plush carpeting, the building echoed like nothing Yohji had ever heard. The whole time he and Aya had been moving, he had heard the men chasing them. The clatter of boots against the tiled parts of each floor, followed by the thudding sound of heavy soles hitting carpet, all accompanied by the guards' almost constant radio chatter and yells to each other. It all came back to Yohji's ears -- hollowed, muffled, and echoing down the twisting, turning hallways in this building. Not the best he could hope for, but more than adequate for him to get a rough estimate of where their enemies were. He hadn't heard anything for a while now, and that told him his pursuers, likely, had moved to another floor, or, at the very least, to the other side of this floor.

They had passed a bank of elevators a while back, and Yohji had paused long enough to send each car to a different floor, in the hopes of buying them some time and distance. It was a pretty transparent ruse, but he still hoped it had worked. At the very least, maybe it lured a few of the guards off of their trail. That would be small comfort, indeed, considering how outnumbered they were. But it would be something. And right now, Yohji would take whatever he could get.

He paused in the middle of the hallway. He should have felt exposed out in the open like this, but he didn't. Yohji found that juxtaposition rather odd, although he didn't give it too much thought. It was a passing fancy, flitting through his brain and out again in nanoseconds. He didn't have the energy or brain power to spare for useless shit like that right now. The corridor around them was dark, deserted, and quiet. He listened, hard, trying to catch any signs of the guards that had been chasing them. But, he only heard his own breathing -- loud, sharp pants that made his ribs ache. And, underneath that, the sound of Aya breathing -- long, almost desperate gasps of air that rasped and rattled out of him as he struggled for each successive breath. They were small noises and quickly lost in the hall's cavernous spaces. But, to Yohji, they seemed unreasonably loud, as if they would be enough to bring the guards down on them at any moment.

He needed to rest. Now that they had stopped moving, Yohji realized just how tired he was. The adrenaline spike that had served to let him fight his way free of the ambush and, then, elude the remaining guards thus far was starting to run out. And, in its place was a hollow, empty space, just waiting for the exhaustion to rush in and fill it up. And, it did. He was shocked at how quickly the wall of fatigue seemed to tumble down on him, seeking to bear him to the ground. He shouldn't have stopped moving. Now, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to get started again, and they weren't safe yet. He couldn't quit now.

Yohji glanced down at his partner. If he needed to rest, it was a damn good bet that Aya needed it even more. He wasn't sure how Aya had managed to stay on his feet this far, although he had been carrying more and more of the younger man's weight as the precious minutes of their flight had ticked by. He wanted to tell Aya to hang on, that everything was going to be okay, but he didn't bother. He knew better than to waste his breath and energy on empty platitudes that wouldn't do either of them any good. He had to find a place for them to hole up, and he had to do it now. They had run out of time.

Yohji scanned the hallway around them. He felt the panic well up inside him, fueling the desperation that had been twisting its way through his insides ever since the ambush. A sudden, vivid image of Aya stumbling backward, into his arms, shot through Yohji's mind, followed by the memory of an expression of pain-filled shock fixed in blue-violet eyes that almost never held emotion of any kind.

No. Yohji shook his head. No. He couldn't think about that right now. Not if he wanted to get out of this mess alive, not if he wanted to keep his partner safe. He shoved the images and memories out of his mind with a ruthless anger. Later, he knew he would dwell on them. He knew he would torture himself with them, that he would see these sights and remember those moments with a sick-edged clarity in both his waking and sleeping hours. But, now, he couldn't. He had to focus.

"Come on, Kudou," he muttered to himself, the words lost under the raspy sound of his own breathing, "Pull your shit together and think. You're smarter than you look, right? So, prove it."

He took another look up and down the hallway. The carpeting here was softer than what he had found in the rest of the building. Instead of the standard, institutional beige coloring, it seemed to be a deep, dark maroon, or, maybe, green -- something dark enough that it looked like a sea of shadow spreading out in front of him in the dimly lit hallway -- and the walls were dark, too. It looked as if they were covered in some kind of wood paneling, which gave the hallway a cavernous, cave-like appearance. Yohji reviewed his mental map of the building, trying to match up their surroundings with one of the locations he had marked on the blueprints when he had reviewed them back at the Koneko. Sure, he had been running blindly, going on instinct alone in trying to avoid the guards. But Yohji's instincts were flawless. He couldn't have survived this long as a Hunter of the Night if they weren't. And, instinctively, he knew he had come here for a reason. Something half remembered off of the building's blueprints.

That's when it hit him. They were on what Omi had called "Executive Row", where the company presidents and senior vice presidents had their offices. And, this area of the building had its own heating and cooling system, both of which were accessed through a special maintenance door. If he remembered correctly, it had looked like the door was concealed inside one of the wood panels. And, if he was really lucky, he had ended up in the right hallway -- the one containing the maintenance hatch.

Yohji moved over to one side of the hallway and, as gently as he could, lowered Aya to the floor. Aya tried to help, but he was too weak to hold himself up. He braced himself against the wall and slid down it as Yohji guided him into a sitting position, doing his best to soften Aya's impact with the floor. Aya's body left a streak of blood in its wake -- a black smear, hardly noticeable against the darkness of the wood paneling -- but it seemed to stand out to Yohji, as if it had been splashed across the wall with glow-in-the-dark paint. He frowned at it and, then, at the way Aya sat there, slumped over and defeated, staring at the floor as if it took every ounce of willpower and energy he had just to draw one breath after another.

Aya shuddered as a wave of pain passed through his body, and, for a fleeting moment or two, Yohji thought, maybe, that was the truth -- that Aya really didn't have anything left in him, that he was at the end of the line and wouldn't make it out of this.

No. Just … no. Yohji shoved the thought out of his head almost as soon as it occurred to him. He couldn't think like that. He wouldn't. Aya was too important to him, too much a part of his life. He couldn't imagine his life without Aya in it. What's more, he didn't want to. He had lived through Asuka. Just barely, and every day continued to be a struggle. But he had made it. Now, though, he realized Aya's loss was something he couldn't live through. It was too much. So, he wouldn't think about it. Ever. Aya would be all right. He just had to, and that was that, as far as Yohji was concerned.

The little voice at the back of his mind whispered to him that he didn't have any say in the matter. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, no matter how strongly he felt about it, he had no control over the situation. Yohji told that voice to shut the hell up. He didn't want to hear it. Not now. Not ever.

Yohji squatted down in front of Aya, so that he was on eye level with the younger man. Aya didn't look at him; Yohji couldn't tell if he was avoiding eye contact, or if he just didn't have the energy. Whatever the reason, Aya stared at the floor until Yohji reached out and, cupping Aya's chin in a gloved hand, raised Aya's head so that their eyes met and their gazes locked.

He hated what he saw. Aya stared right at him, but his eyes were empty and blank, almost as if he looked right through Yohji. Or, even worse, as if he no longer saw anything at all. Yohji felt his heart skip a beat and his stomach clench with dread. He was becoming all too intimately acquainted with that particular emotion. It was as if it had slithered into his gut, where it coiled up into a cold, hard knot.

"Hey, you're hanging in there … right?" Yohji asked, cringing at how whiny and pathetic his voice sounded -- as if he expected Aya to make him feel better, when things should work the other way around, especially now.

He waited, holding his breath, hoping for some response, for some sign that Aya had heard him. He wasn't sure what he wanted, or what he expected. But, it didn't matter; he didn't get it. He didn't get anything except that blank, eerie stare.

Yohji sighed and ran his fingers through Aya's hair. It was a gesture that was gentle and caring and, yet, too familiar. At any other time, it would seem out of place. But now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Aya must have thought so, too, because he leaned into Yohji's hand, taking comfort in the brief contact. It wasn't like Aya to react like that, and, far from reassuring Yohji, it made him feel even worse about their situation.

"All right," he said, his voice soft, hardly above a whisper, "I think there's a maintenance closet or something just down this hallway. I'm gonna go look for it. I'll be right back."

He started to stand, but Aya's hand latched on to the sleeve of his coat in a death grip, refusing to let him leave and drawing Yohji's attention back to Aya's face. Instead of the blank, empty expression of a few moments ago, Yohji saw fear in Aya's eyes. Fear, and an unspoken plea: "Don't leave me alone."

Yohji wanted to placate Aya. Now, more than ever, he wanted to comfort his friend. But he knew better. They didn't have time. Yohji had, maybe, bought them a few minutes of relief from the guards, but the small distractions he had managed wouldn't lead those men astray for much longer. Time was one thing it seemed he and Aya didn't have -- in more ways than one. No matter how hard it was to walk away and leave Aya sitting there -- hurting, alone, and afraid -- even if it was only for a moment or two, Yohji knew he had to do it. He placed his hand over Aya's, enclosing the grasping fingers in a brief embrace -- leather against leather -- before, gently, prying Aya's hand off of his coat. Aya tried to pull away, but Yohji held onto him; at the same time, he leaned forward, slipping his free hand behind Aya's head, so that he cradled the younger man's neck. He leaned forward and pulled Aya toward him a little bit, until their foreheads touched.

"I'm not leaving you. I'll be right back. I promise," Yohji whispered, all the while holding Aya in that impromptu embrace. "You don't leave me, either. All right?"

He waited for a moment -- the span of a heartbeat, or, maybe, two -- until Aya nodded.

"Okay," Yohji said.

He tightened his embrace on Aya, just for a moment, and then let go, rising to his feet in almost the same motion. The swish of his leather coat seemed loud in the silent, deserted hallway. Before he could change his mind, he moved away, ticking off markers on his mental map until he thought he was close to the maintenance closet. He paused several feet down the hall and tapped on the paneling. The mail lining in his glove made a solid-sounding clink. He continued moving down the corridor, pausing to tap every few feet, until, finally, he was rewarded with the sound of a hollow thump. Satisfied that he had found the maintenance closet door, Yohji spared a glance back toward his partner. Aya hadn't moved; he still sat slumped against the wall, staring at the floor. Once he was assured that Aya was hanging in there, Yohji bent his attention toward finding the mechanism that would open the door and give them a safe hiding place. At least, he hoped it would be a safe hiding place. Either it would be a refuge, or he would be trapping them and sealing their doom. Yohji didn't allow himself to think about that possibility. He couldn't. It didn't matter, anyhow; they were officially out of options.

Yohji pulled off one of his gloves, gripping the leather with his teeth and tugging it off that way in order to keep his hands free in case he had to use his weapons. He grimaced and almost choked at the strong, iron taste of the blood that had seeped into the leather. Aya's blood. The thought made Yohji want to puke, but he fought off the urge and bent his attention to feeling the paneling, digging his fingers into every nook and cranny in search of the door's release.

It felt like it took forever and a day, although Yohji knew it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before his fingers scrabbled against a lever, rewarding him with the metallic click of a lock disengaging. The closet door swung open, out into the hallway, revealing an opening that was no bigger than a large crawl space. Yohji stuck his head inside and looked around, frowning at the sight of metal walls and the vague shadows of receding ductwork he could just make out at the edges of his vision. It would be a tight fit, but he would make it work. He had to.

As he retraced his steps back to Aya, he clicked on his communicator. He had been trying to avoid breaking radio silence, but, like so many things at the tail end of this evening, Yohji realized he didn't have any choice in the matter. He hated that -- being out of choices. Yohji figured a man should never find himself in that position. Let alone finding himself in that position several times in the span of a few hours.

"Bombay. Siberian. Anyone copy?" Yohji's voice never rose above a whisper, but, even so, he could hear the fear and urgency in his tone. He knew it would telegraph over the communicators, just as if he had yelled out his innermost feelings to his teammates.

There were a few seconds of static, before Omi's voice replied, sounding as if the youngest Weiss was sitting right inside Yohji's ear. Yohji felt a shiver run down his spine. He hated using these damn things. They never failed to make his teeth itch -- and not in a good way.

"I'm here," Omi replied.

"We need you and Siberian here. Now," Yohji said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact, although he continued to speak in hushed tones.

There was a pause -- a hesitation so laced with fear that Yohji could practically feel the emotion radiating at him out of the communicator. Omi had to know something was wrong. The fact that Yohji was breaking radio silence in the middle of a mission was proof of that. But he didn't ask. Maybe he was afraid to; Yohji thought, if he was in Omi's position, that's how he would feel -- wanting to know what had happened, needing to know what had happened, and, yet, afraid to ask. As if asking would make his worst fears come true.

Instead, Omi said, "Things aren't clear on our end. We haven't finished our part, and there are more patrols than our intel indicated."

Yohji felt the anger well up inside him. He didn't want to feel this way. He especially didn't want to feel this way toward Omi, when he knew Omi didn't mean to sound so cold and distant, when he knew Omi spoke out of fear, more than anything else. But, this was one more of those things he couldn't help. Aya was dying. It was the first time since the ambush that Yohji had allowed himself to think the words, and he felt like a traitor for doing it, even as the truth behind them smacked into his psyche like a well-timed gut punch. Aya was dying. Now wasn't the time for Omi to try and hide behind mission parameters and objectives.

"Fuck the mission," Yohji snarled, voicing his thoughts. "The mission is a bust. Our intel was fucked. Everything was fucked. This is you and me, kiddo, not some mission parameter or objective. We were ambushed in the target's office, and the guards are out there. I shook them, for now. But, we need help here. There are too many, and I can't get us clear. Where the fuck are you guys, anyhow? I need you here … like yesterday."

There was another silence. It couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, but, to Yohji, it seemed much longer. He could almost hear Omi's mind whirring, working through all the probabilities and trying to figure out what had happened, trying to figure out what was wrong. Trying to figure it out without having to ask, without making Yohji say the words that would make this nightmare a reality for all of them. Yohji knew Omi had a good idea of what was going on. Omi was smart, and he had been working as an assassin longer than any of them. Omi might not want to ask, but Yohji's choice of words had told him everything he needed to know.

Just when Yohji was beginning to think they had gotten cut off, the silence in his ear broke with a crackle, carrying Omi's voice with it.

"Ten minutes. Can you hole up until then?"

"Yeah, but it's too long," Yohji snarled.

"It's … how long it'll take," Omi replied.

His voice was soft and calm -- business as usual. But Yohji could hear the note of sadness and regret curving around the words. At any other time, the sound of that emotion and the way Omi struggled to hold it back would have softened Yohji's heart. It would have made him want to comfort Omi, or, at the very least, to see things from Omi's perspective. Now, though, it didn't matter. Right now, Yohji didn't care.

"It's not good enough," Yohji started to argue.

Aya's voice crackled over the communicator, startling Yohji into silence.

"It's … fine," Aya mumbled.

His voice was low and raspy, and he spoke slowly, as if every word was an effort. Yohji stared at him and shook his head, as if he could will Aya to stop. As if he could change the way all of this was going just by wanting it badly enough. But he couldn't. The tightness in his throat and the dread in his heart told him that much.

"I … don't have ten minutes," Aya said.

Even though he spoke in that same halting, weak voice, he said the words in a way that was matter-of-fact, as if he was telling them he would stop off to pick up a gallon of milk on his way home. Yohji had seen the emotion in Aya's eyes. He had read it as fear, but, now, he wondered if he had been mistaken. How could Aya talk like that? Like it was nothing? Yohji knew it was irrational, but he felt the anger rising within him once more. It was just his night to be fucking pissed at everything and everyone -- at the fuckers who had done this to Aya, at Omi and Ken, for not being here when he needed them, and at Aya, for being such a bastard and putting him through this. Yohji knew it was irrational, but that didn't matter at the moment. Nothing about this situation was rational. Nothing about it made sense, and nothing about it was all right. And, right now, he just wanted to be pissed.

Another long pause on Omi's end of the communicator, followed by a mumbled, "All right, Abyssinian. We copy."

"That's … that's bullshit, and you know it," Yohji snapped. "You're just going to leave us hanging like this? When Abyssinian is …"

"Enough, Balinese," Omi's voice cut through Yohji's argument. "Not now. Not over the comm. I'm locked onto your location. We'll be there in ten; find a place and hole up." He paused for a second or two and, then, added, in a choked voice that barely carried over the communicator's staticky crackle, "Abyssinian …"

Omi's voice trailed off, as if he was searching for words that would convey his feelings, that would tell Aya to hang on and keep fighting, but, at the same time, wouldn't reveal anything about their situation. But no words in the world could do that. They all knew it.

"Abyssinian, Out," Aya said, breaking the connection and saving Omi from floundering around.

Somehow, the finality of that was even worse. Yohji heard Omi gasp -- a slight intake of breath that was so soft it was almost lost under the sound of Omi signing out by flipping off his communicator. Rage, fear, and the most profound sorrow he had ever felt raced through Yohji's heart. He stood there and stared at the floor as he fought to swallow down the lump in his throat. He didn't have time for this now. He didn't have time to fall apart. It seemed like he had told himself that a million times over in the short span of time since he and Aya had stumbled away from the ambush in their target's office, and it was as true now as it had been the first time the sentiment had run through his mind.

When he thought he had his emotions under control once more, Yohji turned back toward Aya and helped him get to his feet. Ten minutes. Such a short amount of time, and, yet, it might as well have been a lifetime. Yohji could feel Aya's body trembling against him, and he glanced down at his partner, realizing that, this time, ten minutes really was a whole lifetime. The thought brought no comfort, but Yohji did his best to brush it off as he half-carried Aya toward the maintenance closet.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Summary:**__ When everything hits the fan and life comes at you too quickly, it's the little things that count, and small memories are all you have to hang on to. Yohji realizes this and has to come to terms with the questions of how and if he wants to go on, once he has lost what is important to him._

_**Warnings:**__ Some bad language. Violence. Heavy angst and drama._

_**Legal Stuff:**__ As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**Endgame: Part 2**

His initial assessment of the maintenance closet had been correct, Yohji noted grimly as he entered the small space, dragging Aya along with him. It wasn't easy to find a halfway comfortable way to sit while still hanging on to Aya, but Aya had become so weak that he couldn't stand on his own. Yohji couldn't have let go of him, even if he had wanted to. It didn't matter, though, because the last thing Yohji wanted to do right now was let Aya go. He pulled Aya close to him and shifted around -- stubborn, refusing to give up until they were both settled as comfortably as possible. He ended up leaning against the wall closest to the access door, with Aya sitting between his outstretched legs and the younger man's torso cradled to his chest in a gentle embrace. The little closet was just wide enough so that he could stretch his legs out in front of him, but his feet banged against the opposite wall. Once they were settled, Yohji reached over and closed the door, plunging the little space into darkness.

It wasn't ideal. Far from it. But, then, Yohji couldn't think of anything about this damn situation that was ideal. The door was well-concealed, though. Unless the guards had an intimate knowledge of the building's blueprints or doubled as maintenance workers for its ventilation system, both of which were unlikely, the odds were they wouldn't find this little closet. He and Aya were as safe as they could be for the moment, and that fact, alone, made this little part of the building's metallic underbelly as close to a slice of heaven as an assassin out of options could get.

Yohji leaned back and rested his head against the wall behind him. He felt the metal's slick coolness, and he closed his eyes, running through a mental checklist in an effort to decide if he had left any clues in the hallway that might lead the guards to their hiding place. He didn't think he had. The door was closed tight, sealed so that it blended perfectly with the hall's dark paneling. Aya had bled all over creation on the way here, as well as leaving what had seemed, to Yohji's worried eyes, a significant amount of blood where he had rested in the hallway. There hadn't been much Yohji could do about that. He had wiped away the smear on the wall as best as he could. He could still see it, but he knew to look for it, too. He knew it was there, and he had to hope that knowledge had made the stain more obvious in his eyes. Hopefully, the guards, being in a hurry and entering what appeared a dark, deserted hallway, wouldn't see it. Omi had killed the lights in this part of the building. That, along with the dark coloring of the paneling and carpeting, should work in their favor. At least, Yohji hoped so. At this point, that was about all he could do -- hope. Yohji hated that. He hated sitting here, feeling trapped, like an animal just waiting for the hunter to come along and finish the game. When had that happened? At some point during the night, the balance had shifted. He and Aya had stopped being the hunters and taken on the role of the prey. And, that pissed Yohji off -- more than he would like to admit.

As his eyes adjusted, Yohji realized there was some light in the little closet. He could look off to one side, past Aya's still body, and see how the main ventilation shaft fed off of this location to travel throughout the building. He could see squares of gray in the darkness, each one indicating a spot where the shaft either branched off or contained a vent. He couldn't see, not really; there was only enough light to let him make out shapes and shadows, but it was better than being trapped in pitch blackness.

Yohji felt Aya's body shudder as it stiffened against a sudden wave of pain. Aya tried to shift around, as if he could escape the hurt, but he didn't have anywhere to go. Even if he had, there wasn't any escaping it. At this point, he **was** the hurt; it had grabbed hold of every fiber of his being, as if it was a part of him. Aya quickly gave up and fell back against Yohji, panting as if that small effort had taken everything out of him.

"Shhh," Yohji soothed, pulling Aya closer, so that the younger man's weight rested on him even more. "Just sit still. Relax and try to save your strength, OK?"

"Doesn't … matter now," Aya replied. "You know that, too."

His voice was small and quiet. So quiet that the words would have been lost amid the metallic creaks and groans of the space around them, if Aya hadn't leaned back to rest his head against Yohji's shoulder. He sighed; the small huff of air rode out of his mouth along with a low, pained groan. Yohji felt Aya's breath, hot and moist against his neck, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

Aya was right. Yohji did know it. He had seen a lot of death, and he could recognize the signs. He could hear it in Aya's voice, feel it in the way Aya's body trembled against him, as if every breath was a greater effort than the last. Yohji didn't want to believe it. Aya had always seemed like more than the rest of them, somehow. Like he was tougher and meaner and stronger than anyone or anything. Like he was unbeatable or immortal -- some kind of pissy, dark, foul-tempered superhero or something. It was pretty stupid, now that Yohji thought about it. He had been stupid to believe that about his friend, and stupid to force Aya to bear the weight of those expectations, along with all the other shit he carried in his heart. And, it was stupid to try and make him into something more than what he was. At the end of the day, Aya was just a man -- Yohji's friend and someone he trusted with his life --and that was all he needed to be. It was more than enough.

And, now, Aya was going to die. The weight of that realization was awful. It was mind-numbing, and Yohji felt his heart clench and his throat tighten up as it hit him. Was it rage that he felt? Sorrow? A little of both, and even more that he couldn't begin to identify? Maybe, although Yohji wasn't in any position to quantify or even care about his feelings at the moment.

He wanted to deny it. He wanted to hide from it. Hell, he had been doing his level best to run away from it ever since Aya had been injured. He had struggled to maintain a state of blissful ignorance, to pretend that things were just fine. Aya had been hurt before -- lots of times -- and it had turned out all right. This time wouldn't be any different. Aya was too good to die like this. Aya was always all right.

No matter how much he wanted to, Yohji couldn't pretend any longer. The smell of blood was all around them -- hanging in the air and leaving the bitter, subtle taste of iron at the back of Yohji's throat with every breath he took. There were other smells: sweat and fear. And death, too. All of this seemed to cling to them, making the air heavy and the tiny closet impossibly close and stifling. It was all Yohji could do to keep from gagging. The tight confines, the smells, and the emotions warring within him all worked to set his stomach churning. But he fought the nausea down. The last thing they needed was one more smell added to the mix.

Yohji realized he had been silent for too long. He should make sure Aya conserved his energy, but he had the sudden, almost irrational urge to hear his friend's voice. Maybe it came from this crazy hope that Aya would stay alive, if Yohji just kept him talking. Maybe Yohji wanted to do everything he could to drag out these last few minutes with Aya, to fix his friend's voice in his memory, to do everything he could to remember.

Whatever the reason, Yohji found he could not keep quiet. The smells and the silence, broken only by the soft hum of an air conditioning unit farther down the shaft, became too much for him. They pulled at him and shredded his sanity until he wanted to scream.

He cleared his throat and said, "It matters to me."

His voice was low and husky, barely a whisper, and he ducked his head a bit, until his face touched Aya's, and he could whisper the statement right into the younger man's ear.

"Idiot," Aya rasped.

"Jerk off," Yohji replied, adopting the teasing tone the two of them always used at times like this.

The little exchange cut some of the tension. For a few precious seconds, it was almost as if the two of them could pretend everything was all right. This was just a day, like any other, and Aya laughed in response -- a strangled-sounding chuckle that seemed so out of place, considering their situation.

He regretted it almost immediately. A wave of pain surged through his body, leaving him weak and gasping for breath. It was all he could do to pull even one more gasp of air into his tortured lungs. He felt Yohji's arms tighten around him, and he leaned heavily into Yohji's body as his vision clouded over and he wondered if this was it for him. His final moment in this world. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Not that he wanted to die. Far from it, but, this time, he wouldn't have any choice in the matter. If he had to go, it wouldn't be so bad to die laughing. Maybe it would cancel out some of the other crap he had lived through and done.

The pain spasm passed, leaving Aya winded, exhausted, and, strangely enough, at peace. His body relaxed, and he allowed Yohji to cradle him in a gentle, but firm, embrace, just enjoying the feel of having someone he trusted and cared about close by.

"You still with me?" Yohji asked.

He struggled to make the question sound casual, like it didn't matter at all -- a passing thought, and nothing more. But his voice shook, and there was a note of fear curving around his words. He could have cried from relief when Aya nodded. It wasn't much of a response, but, to Yohji, it couldn't have been better.

It was quiet for what felt like a long time. Yohji held on to Aya and listened to the electrical hum that reverberated through the walls around them. He rested his chin on the top of Aya's head and thought about other times they had spent together. Quiet times spent working in the Koneko's back room or watching a movie. Times spent splitting household chores, like when it was Aya's turn to cook, and Yohji would sit at the table, not necessarily talking, but just being in the same room. Just enjoying the company of this friend who had, somehow, come to mean everything to him. Yohji still didn't know quite how it had happened, but, over time, he and Aya had forged an uneasy companionship, which had, in turn, changed into a true and deep friendship once they had realized they were a lot more alike than outside appearances seemed to indicate.

Yohji hadn't realized it until now, but, somehow, Aya made him feel like he belonged, like he wasn't alone in the world any more. It was as if, for the first time in a long time, he had a home. When had it become that way? When had he started thinking of Aya as "home"? Yohji didn't know. He couldn't figure it out, but he knew it was true. The grief and rage he felt told him that.

Yohji couldn't wrap his heart and mind around all of this. In some part of his psyche, he knew Aya was not going home with him. He knew Aya would be gone tomorrow. He knew it was all over. And yet, he found himself thinking ahead to tomorrow, two days from now, a week. And always, Aya was there. He couldn't force himself to come to grips with the knowledge that he would be left behind, forced to face life alone and cast adrift with no one to belong to, no one to call home -- just like after Asuka had died.

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back there, at the Koneko with Aya, or back in any of his memories of the younger man. Anywhere but here, stuck in this stinking shithole, watching as Aya died, and feeling helpless to do anything but hold his friend and feel his universe crumble around him.

Yohji wondered how long it had been. Surely, it had been ten minutes already. It felt like ten lifetimes that he had been stuck in here, watching Aya struggle to cling to life. Where the fuck were Omi and Ken, anyhow? Why weren't they here already? Aya was dying. He was dying, and Omi and Ken were out fucking around, like they didn't give a shit. Even as the anger, again, rose within him, Yohji forced it down, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He was being irrational. Omi and Ken cared. He knew that. It was the four of them against the world. But Yohji needed to be mad at someone, and it was easy to be mad at his two absent teammates.

And, then, his mind, being the traitorous thing that it was, came full circle and brought his thoughts back to the here and now. Yohji wondered if Aya was still alive. Aya hadn't moved for what felt like a long time. And Yohji wasn't sure he could feel the rise and fall of Aya's chest beneath his arms, which still held the younger man. Yohji felt a fresh surge of fear and dread shoot through him, leaving him cold. Was Aya gone? He was too terrified to check.

Suddenly, Aya's voice -- breathy and hoarse -- cut through the silence.

"If I'd known it was today … I dunno. Maybe I would've done things … differently."

Yohji felt like he should tell Aya to be quiet, to be still and save his strength. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. More than anything, this was what he wanted -- to hear Aya's voice.

Instead of admonishing Aya to keep quiet, Yohji found himself asking, "Like what?"

"Turned down this damn … mission, for one thing," Aya mumbled.

Somehow, in spite of everything, his biting, dry wit managed to show through, and Yohji couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah," Yohji replied. "I was just wishing the same thing."

"Woulda slept in … skipped work," Aya mumbled.

"Hell yeah," Yohji replied, his tone teasing and gentle. "Everyone needs to play hooky sometimes. You're way too serious, you know."

"I … shoulda been … different," Aya said. "Wasted my life … for what?"

The sorrow and regret he heard in Aya's voice tugged at Yohji's heart. He felt his throat close up and his chest clench. He couldn't say anything for a moment or two. He couldn't trust his voice to remain steady, so he tightened his embrace, seeking to draw Aya even closer to him.

"You're fine, Aya. Just the way you are. You're fine," Yohji said, once he had his emotions more under control. Even then, his voice was husky and hoarse with unshed tears.

"What …" Aya started. He paused, struggling to catch his breath, and, then, continued, "What … would you do? Without Weiss?"

Yohji wasn't sure how to answer that. He had never allowed his mind to think about such things. He was Weiss. This was his life. To think about what might have been was too hard. It hurt too much.

"I don't know," he said, after a short pause. "Stayed a PI, I guess. I liked it, and I was good at it. Married Asuka. Had kids. Bought a house and a dog. Shit like that."

"S'nice," Aya whispered.

"What about you?" Yohji asked.

Aya shook his head -- a motion so slight and weak that Yohji hardly noticed it.

"Don't know," he said, his words slurring a little. "Lived, I guess. Maybe … fallen in love. That … woulda been OK."

Yohji felt his heart shatter. He couldn't hold back the tears any more. It was a simple statement. A simple, small dream. Aya should have had all of that, and more. Instead, he had lost everything and found his way to Weiss. Where was the justice in that? Where was the justice for any of them?

Yohji wanted to tell Aya what was in his heart. But he couldn't find the words. So, he just held his dying friend and cried. He didn't try to hold back any longer. He felt the tears slip from beneath the frames of his sunglasses and trace down his cheeks. He felt them drip off his chin and nose, and he knew they fell onto Aya's hair -- little splashes of darker red that weren't visible in the closet's dim light.

Aya took a gasping breath. Yohji could tell it was harder, now, for him to breathe. He waited for the next one to come, closing his eyes and mentally willing it to happen, as if he could make Aya live, if he just wanted it badly enough. It seemed like forever, but, finally, Aya managed another breath. It rattled in his throat and lungs, but a third came right on its heels.

"Will you … take care of … her?" Aya managed to rasp out.

It seemed as if the words took a huge toll on him, as if talking had become too much effort.

There was no doubt who Aya meant. Yohji nodded and said, "Yeah. I'll take care of her. I promise."

He paused for a moment, trying to get control of his run-away emotions. It was no good, though. Before he could stop it, Yohji found himself pleading with Aya, begging the younger man not to die.

"Please, Aya," he choked out, the words muffled as he buried his face in Aya's hair. "Please don't do this. Fuck. Don't. You can't leave me alone. I don't … want this. I can't live through it. I can't."

Aya sighed, a sobbing, half gasp of air that exited his body along with a groan of pain. Yohji felt something wet against his arm, on the small sliver of exposed skin between his glove and the sleeve of his trench. And he realized Aya was crying. Aya had probably been crying the whole time, but Yohji hadn't realized it until now.

"You're … not … alone," Aya gasped out. "Omi … Ken."

"I know," Yohji said.

And, he did know. It was true. He would never be alone as long as any member of Weiss was still alive. He knew that. And yet, he felt abandoned, as if his world was crumbling around him. Because it was. He wanted to tell Aya all of this, to put his fear and grief into words and pour it out at the younger man. But he couldn't. He couldn't do that to Aya. He had already said too much.

"I'm … sorry … Yotan. Tired. Too tired," Aya mumbled.

Yohji had to lean forward to hear the words. He tightened his embrace around Aya and said, "It's okay, Aya. It's okay to let go."

They were the hardest words he had ever said, and he didn't know how he managed to get them out without sobbing. But somehow, he did. Because he had to. He had to do this for Aya.

"Stay … with me?" Aya asked, his voice fading away into nothing almost before the last word left his mouth.

"Yeah," Yohji whispered. "I'll be right here, holding you while you sleep. It's okay. I'll … I'll be here. I'll keep you safe."

Aya didn't say anything. He sighed and went very still and heavy in Yohji's arms.

And Yohji held him. Just as he had promised. He held on to Aya as he felt the life leave his friend's body. As he felt Aya's final breath sigh from his lips, and as he felt Aya's heart slow, and falter, and stop. Even after Aya was gone, Yohji held him. He couldn't let him go. He wouldn't. He didn't want to. So, he held on, clutching Aya to him as grief flooded through him, as his own body shook with great, gasping sobs that he tried to choke down. He tried to hold it all in, because he had to. Because he needed to stay hidden; he needed to stay safe so that he could bring Aya home. Because he was Weiss, and they were still on a mission, even though the world had just screeched to a halt.

He held it in until he couldn't any more. And, then, Yohji screamed. He put everything into it. All his rage, all his sorrow, all his despair, every emotion he was feeling went into that one scream. It was a horrible sound -- primal, like an animal's howl. It rocked his hiding place, rattling the metal walls. In the back of his mind, Yohji knew it had to be enough to attract the guards. It would lead them right to him.

He didn't care. Let them come. He would kill them. He would kill them all, for what they had done to Aya.

Rage overtook him, then, and he kicked out at the metal walls. They rattled and shook. The noise inside the tiny space was deafening.

And, still, Yohji screamed.

He could hear someone else now. It was Omi -- Omi's voice, telling him to stop, telling him to calm down, telling him everything was all right.

Omi was wrong. Nothing was all right. Nothing would ever be that way again. Yohji ignored the voice and continued to scream. He screamed as if he would never stop.

**TBC in part 3 …**

_**

* * *

**__ I usually don't add notes at the end of my chapters, but, after much consideration, I felt this one was necessary. I realize things seem pretty bad for the boys right now … but just hang on and click the next chapter. I think it'll be worth it._

_Tex-chan_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Summary:**__ When everything hits the fan and life comes at you too quickly, it's the little things that count, and small memories are all you have to hang on to. Yohji realizes this and has to come to terms with the questions of how and if he wants to go on, once he has lost what is important to him._

_**Warnings:**__ Some bad language. Violence. Heavy angst and drama._

_**Legal Stuff:**__ As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**Endgame: Part 3**

Later on, Yohji would wonder what had reached him, but he would never know if it was Omi's voice or the scream that finally managed to break through. He opened his eyes to find himself staring, not at four metal walls in a tiny, claustrophobia-inducing room, but at a ceiling. He recognized the plaster, which had faded to a dirty, off-white color over the years, and he recognized the cracks that spider webbed across his line of vision. His ceiling. In his room. Over the Koneko.

Yohji felt confused and disoriented, as if he had, somehow, stepped out of time and place. The rational part of his brain told him where he was. There was no doubt. This was his room. The rest of his psyche was having a hard time catching up to that little slice of truth. He lay there on his bed for several long minutes, staring at the cracked ceiling and wondering why the hell he had woken up here, instead of in that little, metal room.

"What the fuck …?" Yohji muttered.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to pull together the unraveling threads of his thoughts. He was surprised to find that his hand came away wet with sweat, but, slowly, he became aware of other sensations. He could hear the sounds of the house around him -- normal, everyday sounds, like the muted buzz of Omi's radio and the beeping of an alarm clock echoing down the hall. Yohji knew it was Ken's clock. For some reason, Ken never remembered to turn it off, so the alarm tended to buzz at all hours of the day when Ken wasn't home to stop it. Yohji could feel the itchy scratch of his sheets where they clung to his sweat-slick skin. And, as his senses came more awake, he realized someone was nearby. Someone was watching him. Yohji bolted upright, grabbing for the sheets as they started to slide off his body. He settled them around his hips and stared at Omi, who was standing in the doorway to his room, staring back at him.

"Awake?" Omi asked, frowning at the confused expression on Yohji's face.

Yohji nodded.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he asked, almost under his breath, as if he was talking to himself.

"You were screaming loud enough to wake the dead, that's what," Omi replied.

He was careful to keep the inflection out of his voice, keeping things on a calm and even level, but he watched Yohji closely as he tried to gauge the older man's emotional state.

Yohji groaned and cradled his head in the palms of his hands as he muttered, "I feel like crap."

Omi laughed a little at that. "Well, that makes sense. You've got the flu, moron. You've been flat on your back in bed for two weeks now."

"The … flu?" Yohji asked, feeling stupid and incompetent for being unable to wrap his brain around reality.

Omi frowned again. He did not like seeing Yohji like this. Instead of the confident, cocky ladies man Omi was used to, this Yohji didn't seem capable of putting two and two together. The way Yohji stared back at him with that vacant, confused expression made Omi nervous and uncomfortable. He hoped Yohji managed to pull it together soon. He had already spent more than his fair share of time playing nursemaid to his sick teammate tonight, and Omi was ready for his tour of duty to come to a close. He realized it was an uncharitable thought, and he did feel a little ashamed of himself. At the same time, Omi had a ton of work to do. He had a backlog of old mission reports that Manx wanted catalogued and summarized, and he had a term paper due in one of his classes. And, of course, Aya and Ken had picked tonight to absent themselves from the house. Omi figured they had done it on purpose, and he was already planning on some form of payback for both of them. He would have to be careful with Aya, though. Ken would take the prank in a good-natured way and laugh it off. Omi had no doubt of that. But Aya was another matter. Aya was bitchy and passive-aggressive to the extreme. Not that that would keep Omi from putting his plan into action; it just meant he would have to plan more carefully in order to keep the upper hand and save himself a lot of grief down the line.

"Where's Aya?" Yohji asked.

Omi jumped at the sound of Yohji's voice. It pulled him from his thoughts and made him realize he hadn't been paying attention. Even so, the fact that Yohji asked about Aya at the same instant Omi was thinking of ways in which he could enact revenge upon their quiet teammate was a bit disconcerting. It made him feel guilty, although Omi couldn't figure out why. He was the one who had been stuck here all night. He didn't have any reason for feeling guilty. None at all.

"What?" Omi replied, giving himself time to cover his own discomfort by pretending he hadn't heard Yohji's question.

Now it was Yohji's turn to frown. It seemed so real, being stuck back in that little, metal room and holding Aya. He could feel Aya's heart stopping, and he could hear the sound of Aya's breathing slowing to a stop -- as real as if it was happening this second, in this room. That, combined with his confusion and the words Omi had used: _"screaming to wake the dead"_, had worked to make Yohji feel cold with fear. He knew he seemed like an idiot. He knew he was having trouble putting everything together into one complete picture, but it didn't matter. Right now, he didn't give a shit. He wanted to see Aya. He needed to see Aya. That was all there was to it.

"Where. Is. Aya?" Yohji asked, putting an irritated emphasis on each word.

Omi glared at Yohji for a second before rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. Was there any appreciation for everything he had done for the older man? Sure, he hadn't sat here at Yohji's bedside, holding his hand or anything, but he had been here. That's more than could be said for the rest of the team. But, no, Yohji wakes up pissier than usual and twice as confused, and immediately starts making demands. It figured.

"Out," Omi replied.

"Out?" Yohji asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice. "Out where? On a mission? When's he due back? What's he doing?"

Omi gave Yohji his best you've-gotta-be-kidding-me expression as he replied, "I don't know. Just … out. He didn't say."

"What the fuck?" Yohji asked. "Aren't you supposed to keep track of that shit? Isn't that your job or something?"

Omi's eyes narrowed in an irritated glare that was such a good imitation of Aya's typical expression that it made Yohji regret his hasty words.

"What the holy fuck makes you think I have time to run around behind all of you and figure out what you're doing and where you're going? I've got work to do. Real, fucking work, you jackass. I don't have time for this shit. Aya is out. I don't know where. I don't care. O-U-T … out. He's a big boy; he can take care of himself." He paused and took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing in a more even tone of voice, "You want soup? I can make it, but if you don't … I've got shit to do."

Yohji shook his head, earning him a disgusted-sounding sigh and another eyeroll as Omi turned around left the room. A couple of seconds later, he heard the door to Omi's bedroom slam. The sound of it shook the walls, giving physical voice to Omi's irritation and making Yohji jump. He had to admit he was kind of glad to see the kiddo leave. He didn't want to be alone, not after the scare he had had over Aya. But, an angry Omi was pretty frightening.

Yohji sat there for a long time, staring at his walls and trying to figure out what the heck had happened. It must have been a dream. There wasn't any other explanation for it, especially since he had woken up here, in his own bed. And, Omi didn't seem like anything was amiss. He had said Aya was out, like it was no big deal. Omi might be in a bad mood, but Yohji was pretty sure he would've been upset if Aya really was dead. Still, it had felt so real. Too damn real. Yohji shuddered as the emotions, smells, and images rushed through his mind.

No. He didn't want to think about it. He wouldn't think about it. He wanted to see Aya, and he knew he wouldn't feel better about things until he did. But, Aya was out, and Yohji had no idea when he might return.

He would go downstairs and wait for Aya to come home, then. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yohji knew this was not the best course of action. It was silly to sit downstairs waiting for Aya to come home, like a little kid waiting for his parent to come pick him up, or something. But, right now, Yohji wasn't about being rational.

He rolled out of bed, groaning as his aching muscles protested. He felt weak and tired, and he swayed a little as he got to his feet. He had to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling and, for a moment or two, his vision grayed out. He wondered if Omi would help him back into bed, if he passed out. Probably not, he decided, shuddering as he remembered the cold, angry stare Omi had given him.

Once he felt like he could stand up without falling, Yohji fumbled in his closet for a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He pulled them on, wincing at the feeling of the material sliding over his too-sensitive skin. He wanted to put on a pair of socks, but he was afraid he would fall over if he bent down to do it, so he decided to stay barefoot. But he compromised by grabbing one of the blankets off his bed and wrapping it around himself. His feet might be cold, but at least the rest of him wouldn't be. He paused at the doorway long enough to grab his sunglasses off the dresser. He pulled them onto his face and, feeling dressed at last, headed downstairs to wait for Aya. He just hoped he wouldn't have to wait for very long.

**TBC in part 4 …**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Summary:**__ When everything hits the fan and life comes at you too quickly, it's the little things that count, and small memories are all you have to hang on to. Yohji realizes this and has to come to terms with the questions of how and if he wants to go on, once he has lost what is important to him._

_**Warnings:**__ Some bad language. Violence. Heavy angst and drama._

_**Legal Stuff:**__ As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it_

**Endgame: Part 4**

Yohji paused in the kitchen doorway and felt relieved beyond measure as he stared at Aya's back. The younger man was standing in front of the open refrigerator, and, although Yohji couldn't see his face, he imagined Aya giving the brightly-lit interior an irritated-looking frown. Yohji smiled as Aya cursed under his breath and bent over to look inside the fridge. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this happy to see someone.

"Hey," Aya said, as Yohji entered the room.

He continued to rummage in the refrigerator, never turning around or looking in Yohji's direction. After a few more seconds, he stood up, holding a box of baking soda and a small wedge of cheddar cheese. He looked inside the box and grunted in satisfaction as he removed a very ripe pear. Aya replaced the now-empty box in the fridge and slammed the door shut, causing the bottles stored there to rattle in protest.

"Feeling any better?" Aya asked, turning around to face Yohji for the first time and frowning at the dumfounded expression on the older man's face.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. A lot better," Yohji replied, shaking himself out of his stupor in response to the eyebrows-raised, questioning expression Aya gave him.

"Good," Aya said, moving over to the sink, where he washed the baking soda off of his pear and set the fruit on the counter to dry. "You want something? Soup? Tea? I can make it," he offered.

Yohji hadn't moved from just inside the doorway. He had stood there this whole time, staring at Aya and feeling relieved and happy to see his friend alive. But now Yohji found himself moving across the kitchen -- quickly, before he changed his mind. He dropped his blanket on one of the chairs as he passed by it, and was across the room and standing behind Aya within a few long strides. Before Aya could turn around or protest, Yohji embraced him. He pulled Aya toward him, resting his chin on the top of Aya's head. He felt Aya stiffen in response to the uninvited physical contact, but, to Yohji's surprise, Aya didn't try to struggle away from him.

"Are you sleepwalking?" Aya asked.

Yohji wondered about the odd question, but he replied, "No."

"Feverish?" Aya asked.

"No," Yohji said.

"Then, you must have a death wish," Aya continued in a dead-pan tone of voice.

Yohji laughed -- a soft, breathy huff of air through his nostrils -- and shook his head as he said, "No. Just … you know, happy to see you."

Aya nodded. "Ah. Well, that's nice. But, you just saw me this morning."

Yohji shrugged, and said, "Yeah, I know. But I had a … bad dream. About you."

"A dream?" Aya asked.

"Yeah," Yohji said, shuddering. "I … I don't want to talk about it."

Aya cleared his throat. "You had a dream about me, and now, you want to hold me. Should I be worried about this?"

Yohji laughed and said, "No. Geez. You're so not my type. You're way too high maintenance, and, well, sorry, but you don't have boobs. I'm a boob man."

They stood in silence for a few long seconds. Finally, Aya cleared his throat again and shifted a little in Yohji's embrace.

"You can let go any time," he said.

"Oh, uh … yeah. Sorry," Yohji muttered in a sheepish-sounding voice as he released Aya and took a few steps backward to put a little distance between them.

He stood there for a few moments, feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed and wondering what the holy hell had come over him that he would hug Aya, of all people. Still, he couldn't regret it. It had been good, feeling Aya's body against his, feeling Aya's heart beating against his chest -- proof that Aya was alive and well. Proof that everything was all right in Yohji Kudou's little world. When Aya started to fumble around in a nearby drawer, Yohji retreated back to the table, where he picked up his blanket and wrapped it around himself before sinking down to sit in one of the chairs. He watched as Aya retrieved a paring knife from the drawer and a plate from one of the upper cabinets.

Aya gathered everything up and turned to face Yohji.

"You sure you don't want anything?" he asked.

Yohji shook his head.

Aya frowned. He didn't like the lost, almost shell-shocked expression on Yohji's face. He could tell the older man was still upset, even though Yohji had been genuinely relieved and happy to see him. He knew better than to ask about the dream. Maybe he could in a few days, when Yohji felt stronger or less frightened and insecure. But, for tonight, Aya knew it was best to leave things alone, especially if Yohji didn't want to talk about it. It had been a rough evening, and he had planned on retreating to his room, so that he could eat his late night snack in peace and, then, go to bed. But, he was reluctant to leave Yohji like this. Instead of following his initial plans, Aya dropped into one of the chairs, across the table from Yohji, and proceeded to peel the pear and cut it into slices. Once that was done, he cut the cheese into small cubes.

"So, what're you gonna do now?" Yohji asked.

Aya shrugged. "Eat my pear. Go to bed." He took a bite of pear and cheese and sighed as he continued, "It's been a rough night."

"What happened?" Yohji asked. "Where were you, anyhow? You have a solo mission or something?"

Aya's eyes narrowed in a frown as he shook his head and replied, "I wish. No. I had a date. Double date. With Ken and some girl he met at a soccer game. She couldn't go out unless he also found a date for her friend, and, since you were out of commission, I got elected."

"It couldn't have been that bad," Yohji said.

"It was," Aya sighed, taking another bite of pear and cheese.

"Was she ugly?" Yohji asked.

Aya shook his head. "No, she was cute, but she was so fucking dumb. I don't think she had ever read a book in her life. She kept nattering away about fashion and interior decorating. Hemlines and pleated drapes, or something. Or maybe it was hemmed drapes and pleated skirts. I'm not really sure. I … wasn't listening. She met a guy at the last bar we went to. I was so damn glad to get rid of her, I didn't even feel insulted. So, I came home. I think Ken is still out with his date. They seemed to hit it off."

Yohji frowned across at Aya. "I can tell I need to give you some lessons in the fine arts of small talk and wooing the fairer sex."

Aya laughed and took another bite of pear as he said, "The only lesson I need is: Never go on a double date with Ken."

Yohji chuckled at that, thinking it was probably really good advice.

"Pear?" Aya asked, pushing the plate toward his companion.

Yohji felt his stomach churn at even the sight of the food, and he frowned and shook his head.

"What's up with the baking soda?" he asked, "Hiding food from Ken?"

"You know it," Aya replied, with a short laugh. "He eats like a damn locust, and it was my last one."

Yohji nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he takes kind of a scorched earth approach where food is concerned."

They sat in silence as Aya ate the last of his pear and cheese. When it was gone, he pushed the plate away and leaned back in his chair, stretching out kinked muscles with a satisfied, albeit tired-sounding, groan.

"So?" Yohji asked. "What do you want to do now? We could watch a movie, or something."

Aya gave him a narrow-eyed glare and a frown. "I had to be nice to that stupid girl all night. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed."

"Oh," Yohji said, unable to conceal the note of disappointment in his voice.

He watched as Aya took the plate and knife to the sink and started washing them. After a few seconds, he asked, "Can I come, too? I mean … sleep in your room tonight?"

He cringed at how pathetic, whiny, and stupid the words sounded. And, he hated how ridiculous and weak it made him seem. But, he couldn't get that dream out of his mind. It was still so vivid and real, even now, even though he knew it had been a dream and nothing more. He didn't want to be alone tonight. He needed to have Aya near, just to reassure himself that everything was all right. He hoped Aya would understand that need, but, at the same time, he knew Aya. It wasn't likely the younger man would willingly allow anyone to intrude on his solitude. He fully expected Aya to tell him no and leave it at that.

Aya turned around and looked at Yohji. It felt like he stood there, staring, for a very long time. Long enough for Yohji to become uncomfortable and start to squirm under the weight of Aya's steady gaze.

Aya wanted to tell Yohji no. He was tired, and he felt like he had used up all the "nice" he had in him for one day. He wanted to be alone, period. But, he had seen the fear and relief in Yohji's eyes. He didn't know what had driven the older man to this state, but he knew it was pretty bad, if it had upset Yohji this way. No matter how much he wanted to, Aya realized he could not leave Yohji alone. Not tonight. Not like this.

He turned back around, and without saying anything, dried the dishes and put them away. With that task accomplished, he crossed the kitchen, intending to head upstairs to his room. He paused in the doorway.

"OK," he said, his voice so soft it barely carried to where Yohji sat.

"Really?" Yohji asked, sounding so puppy-dog-hopeful that it made him feel pathetic.

Aya nodded. "Yeah, really. But if you snore, I'm kicking your ass out."

Yohji smiled and jumped up out of his chair. Its legs made a squealing sound against the floor's old linoleum as he scooted it back, away from the table. Yohji cringed at the sound, but he didn't stop long enough to push the chair back into its proper place. Aya was already heading up the stairs, and Yohji figured he had better catch up before Aya changed his mind about the sleeping arrangements.

He followed Aya out of the kitchen, but paused at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at his friend, who was almost at the top step.

"So, can we spoon?" he called up, a slight teasing tone curving around his words.

He smiled as he saw Aya's back stiffen in response to the question. After a moment, Aya replied, "I keep a sword in my room. Don't forget that."

Yohji laughed. "So, that's a no, then?"

Aya didn't say anything. He reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner, passing from Yohji's field of view. Yohji laughed to himself. He gathered his blanket closer around his shoulders, trying to ward off a sudden chill, and followed Aya up the stairs.

** end**


End file.
